Edinburgh may only host its world-famous eponymous festival for a few weeks annually, but the Scottish capital is plump with drama all-year round.

Even my taxi rides are spiced with theatrical, rapid-fire comments. “It’s braw and bricht,” one driver virtually purrs to sum up a “good and bright” day during my spring fling in the city; another classically exclaims “jings, crivvens,” the Scottish equivalent of England’s “goodness me,” as I quiz him about where to go for what he dubs a “braw shindig” that night.

There’s a litany of lively spots, of course – the Scots having long earned their reputation for knowing how to have a good night out. But the statuesque city is seemingly brimming with extra brio these days: Perhaps due not only to the recent delivery of a specific day (Sept. 14, 2014) for the historic referendum for independence from England, but also to the hullabaloo surrounding the arrival of flamboyant tycoon Sir Richard Branson in the city.

Not so much showing what was up his sleeve but more what was under his kilt, the underpants-flashing billionaire has just launched his new Virgin Atlantic London Heathrow to Edinburgh service (that now connects with its Vancouver route restarting this month). Along with a male crew also cheekily in kilts created by the city’s Howie Nicholsby – already well known for the sultry design for singer Lenny Kravitz – the new schedule marks the first domestic service in the U.K. for the 30-year-old airline.

Away from the thrum of excited fans and the media group I’m part of, however, I’ve hired a storyteller to tour me through the less touristy side of the city. Sure, everyone should run through the checklist of architectural triumphs such as the gothic monument to Scottish author Sir Walter Scott (affectionately nicknamed Thunderbird 3 for mimicking the rocket in the popular British sci-fi TV series in the 60s), the grandeur of the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the Queen’s residence in the city, or the more recent arrival of the granite, oak and steel of the Scottish Parliament (for a great visual, see it from the bucolic neighbouring hills, Salisbury Crags and Arthur’s Seat).

For me, it’s all starting with a bit more grit as I head for the “skeleton,” according to my colourful guide Calum Lykan. We’re on the “spine,” the much-vaunted cobbled drag of the Royal Mile that runs through the main part of the Old Town, which is punctuated by the “skull” or Edinburgh Castle (another to be checked off), high on the volcanic crag overlooking the capital. From there he nips me down many of the narrow, herringboned claustrophobic closes or alleyways that, he declares with a giant sweep of his arms, make for the “ribs.” Beyond the archways, vertiginous seven-storey former tenements loom down on the paths named for the people who once lived there such as Trunk’s, Jackson’s and Paisley’s.

It’s clear he’s bent on history, but his passionate explanation of the 19th-century rotten landlords and the characters who stalked the city’s nefarious bygone, slum-filled era makes it feel like it were happening today. Among the tartan-tat being hawked in some of the stores, we are among myriad “wee treasures” that pockmark the area: from the quaint-looking Museum of Childhood to the grand gallery of the expansive National Museum of Scotland, where he whisks me up to the rooftop for one of the best views of the city.

Back down on the street, we journey through the lesser-visited Pleasance and Newington areas. Amid the charity shops and pubs, we clock the police station from Ian Rankin’s detective TV series, Rebus, as well as a lineup of minuscule, now-defunct police boxes (think Doctor Who’s Tardis) – some left to graffiti artists, others to entrepreneurs reinventing them as coffee stores.

Lykan brings me back to the “nicer parts of this Jekyll and Hyde town” leaving me to the sweeping St Giles Cathedral and the handsome sandstone buildings. To continue with his anatomical analogy, however, a few heartbeats later I’m looking for more of the rough-and-ready side of the city, catching a cab to Leith, the industrial setting for Danny Boyle film, Trainspotting. (Once again theatrics dominate as my driver animatedly tells me the elongated and controversial politics surrounding the installation of the city’s tram system – you spy them effortlessly with the accompanying roadworks.)

While there may be a few divey spots left in Leith, the waterfront is now mainly a scrubbed-up harbour boasting a buzzing shopping centre (which is also the final resting place for the Queen’s old ship, The Royal Yacht Britannia) and to die-for food such as vaunted chef Martin Wishart’s smart one Michelin star eponymous restaurant.

As for that promised braw shindig, well, let’s just say it was down to the classic Scottish trademarks of whisky, kilts and a barrage of bagpipes. But just as Edinburgh has undergone much reimagining, so has the musical instrument via Scotland’s supergroup, the Red Hot Chilli Pipers. It may be piping but this one is infused with rock and – once again – heavy on the drama.

Lucy Hyslop travelled with Virgin Atlantic from Vancouver to London and on to Edinburgh (virginatlantic.com)

Key spots

Stay: Nothing generic about The Scotsman Hotel: From typeset numbers to the warren of rooms that are temples of stylish tweed, this hotel is uniquely converted from the former HQ of one of the city’s newspapers. It even has private custom-built hutches inside the rooms that allow you to have room service without having to see a soul. The Scotsman Hotel, 20 North Bridge, Edinburgh; 011 44-(0) 131 556 5565; thescotsmanhotel.co.uk

Visit: Check out ship number 691, or what’s more commonly known as The Royal Yacht Britannia. The Leith-based attraction is dedicated to lively luxury afloat — including space for the royal Rolls-Royce. For added “Yottie” decorum, sip — with your pinky extended — a cup of the famous Edinburgh Ceylon tea at the Britannia Royal Deck Tea Room, while eating a clotted cream tea (with scones made on board) complete with royal ensign napkins.

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